


I should have protected you

by everyfandomoftherainbow



Category: Fargo - Fandom, Wrenchers - Fandom
Genre: M/M, hit men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 10:23:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1815154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everyfandomoftherainbow/pseuds/everyfandomoftherainbow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Numbers gets into a bad accident, Wrench blames himself and feels as though he won't always be able to protect Numbers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I should have protected you

Everything had started out alright. Most things do, start okay. Like a birth, or getting into a new relationship. And then sometimes, things just go downhill, that's life.  
Wrench dug his foot into the gas pedal, the car screaming down the highway at over 90 mph. Everything moved so fast behind them, he couldn't see what was happening, trying to pay attention to the road, but keeping an eye on his partner as well. There was no blood spilled yet- just three guys in the black car chasing them looking for revenge. A job gone sour, and a death that wasn't meant to be. They had killed the wrong idiot, sending their opponents into a killing spree on them. It was a surprise though, when they got in their car to make the escape, that the three assholes decided it was a good day for a drive, with a side of murder. Wrench tried not to scream as he passed all the cars, gritting his teeth and swerving down the road. Right, left, right, and then left again. He took a peak at Numbers, who was holding a gun out the window. It was all exactly like an action movie. Living the dream. He could see Number's mouth open as the bullets shook the gun, jolting his body, hair flying in the wind. It was most certainly the heat of the moment. Though snow fell softly, Wrench felt as if it was burning inside of the car. He pressed the gas petal deeper, wind whipping around his hair, and making his eyes sting from the bitter cold. He rimmed a car, feeling his heart leap from the almost impact. It occurred to him, finally, how dangerous this situation really was. His breathing became rapid, spewing out a million miles a second. Everything was going so fast, before he could see it. Number's teeth grinding as the bullets shot from the gun, sparks of white light coming out the end of the gun, reflecting off the window so Wrench could see it out of the corner of his eye. Eyes on the road. That was what needed to be. He couldn't yell at Numbers to get back inside of the car all the way, he was capable of understandable audio, but surely Numbers wouldn't hear him even if he did yell. Instead he just grabbed the end of his jacket, as quickly as he could, and yanked him back into his seat. The firing ceased, and Numbers tugged himself back into his seat, pointing at Wrench and then at the road, and then to the car. Wrench shook his head, not understanding, because he couldn't do anything but keep his eyes glued to the road. His hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel, swerving around cars, jolting from side to side. In the review mirror he saw the big black car first, tailing them in expert time. Then he caught his own eyes, forehead beaded with sweat, bright and blue, excited and jumpy. He tried to take deep breaths but it felt as if he hadn't had a drink in years. Numbers was shaking his shoulder, yelling something. He raised a hand to Numbers, trying to shut him up.  
Then it happened. His body felt it coming before his brain had time to render the situation. A bullet ripped through their windshield, coming from behind, shattering the glass in the right corner. He immediately turned his head to Numbers, scanning the entire side of the car. No blood. Numbers was okay, just gasping and swearing. The most important thing was Numbers of course, but somehow the road captivated him. It was his way of blocking out what was really going on, and keeping from panicking. He turned to Numbers, who had run out of time, and was not using sign language.  
"Holy shit- Fuck- God- We have to lose them." Numbers said, as Wrench read his lips, Wrench nodded, almost raising an eyebrow as if to say "Oh really?" There was no way around it. Wrench took the wheel and spun it, hand over hand, noticing Numbers slide to the right and slam into the car door. More bullets rained in from the back window, making the glass in the front shatter. Only a couple more and the thing would probably burst. The street they turned onto was covered with dead trees, snow lined up around the sides. His face was twisted in concentration he could feel it, and he could feel Numbers moving to shoot.  
"No!" Wrench yelled, pulling Numbers back into the passenger seat. Now that the crazy jackasses on this insane race had decided to shoot back, there was no way Wrench would let his partner out the window again. Numbers grabbed his gun, grasping it tightly and nervously, but obviously yielding to Wrench's command. He watched the black car make another turn, coming up behind them and gaining speed. Soon they were by a brick town, empty, but cars still out on the sides of the street. He grunted and pulled the car right, onto a less inhabited street. There was only one other car near the end of the road, so Wrench slammed the gas petal once again. He swerved around the car, and realized the street did in fact end. There was a small convenience store at the end of it, Wrench had no other choice but to turn the car. He started to make a left, but stalled, in those few seconds he had, when he saw the black car right behind them. Wrench's eyes widened in fear, anger, and astonishment, because he could see what would happen next. As the car turned, there wasn't enough time to go faster and escape, instead it ended with the Black car slamming into Wrench's side of the car, and Number's side collided with the small store. Glass shattered in his face, he felt the crunch of the car, his head jolted right and then left, leaving the instant pain of severe whiplash, his leg crushed by the side door from the impact. He reached out to grab the wheel as instinct, pulling himself forward, then looking to his right. Steam emerged from the car, filling everything around them with smoke. Wrench coughed and tried to move. The car was still, and the black car's door had started to open. If they had tired to kill them, well, they would have to try damn harder. He reached for the gun on his side, but while turning the thought of Numbers ached his mind, when he looked up to find his sight covered in red. The window on Number's side of the car was cracked with blood, Number's head resting in the middle of a spiral of cracked glass. His eyes were closed, hair wind tossed, mouth gaping open. Wrench unbuckled himself and reached over to Numbers, pulling on his jacket to lift himself across the middle of the car. He grabbed Number's face, saying,  
"Numbers?" To the best of his ability. Wrench scanned his partners face for a reaction, eyes wild, but found none, he placed a hand on Number's chest to find the faintest of heart beats, but still present. He sighed in relief, quickly putting Number back into the resting position. Who knew how long he had until Number's brain expanded into his skull for a concussion? There wouldn't be much. He pulled the gun out of his holster, grunting with pain as he finally recognized his leg was covered in blood, the distractions around him had caused him not to notice the pain in his leg, the shock wore off, his vision returning, brain slowly getting rid of the fuzz. The man had gotten out of the car, Italian, his black jacket wobbling around him. He pulled a gun up to Wrench's face, but still had a confused look on his face. He stumbled, and Wrench pulled his gun up and pulled the trigger. He felt the bullet leave the gun, and watched it collide with the man's chest. He fell on the pavement around the car wreckage, and the other two men got out of the car in a hurry. But his gun was already up, aiming at them, and before they had a chance to evaluate, Wrench's bullets were already lodged in their bodies. The three dead idiots had started pooling blood, a woman was screaming on the side, Wrench watched her and pulled his leg out of the position it was in, screaming in pain. He gritted his teeth, opening his door as far as he could. The black car had bounced back after the impact, giving Wrench room to get out of the smoking car. He grabbed the side, pulling himself out of the car, moaning at his leg. He used the car to guide himself around it, ignoring the pain, limping, only one thing set on his mind. He opened the passenger side's door, wrapping his arms around Numbers, pulling him out of the wreckage. He got a grip around his waist, and carried him, stumbling here and there, slowly making his way to the other, less damaged car. He tried to gently put Numbers in the car, but slipped, and Numbers fell into the seat with a thud. He gasped and pulled Numbers up, making sure his head was in the correct position. Then, as fast as he could, made his way around the dead bodies to the driver's seat. He slammed the door closed, knowing time was running out. The cops were on their way, and he put the car in reverse, rendering and pulling onto the street, speeding to the hospital, snow billowing around them. 

It was a minor gash on the left side of leg, but it was patched pretty easy with only 7 stitches. The doctors made a big deal out of it, but Wrench was not concerned. It was hard for him to communicate without Numbers, and he had no intention of doing so. They let him keep his clothing on, so he sat in Number's room. b213. It was cold, and they had only given Numbers one blanket. It pissed Wrench off. It was 2am, the lights from the were the only thing that illuminated the room. Numbers took the most damage. His skull had been slightly fractured, and he was suffering from a major concussion. They said he had a good chance of waking up, though it might take some time. Numbers was laying peacefully on the white bed with a soft blue blanket, his hair starting to curl back up from it's lack of gel. Which Wrench loved, the curly soft hair instead of the greasy black. His mouth was open just a little bit, head wrapped in gauze. One arm lapped over his stomach, the other at his side. Wrench was holding tightly onto his hand. Though when the nurse walked in, he let go. She looked at him while she checked Number's vitals. She sighed and said,  
"You should go home." Wrench read her lips and just shook his head. There was no home to go to, not with out Numbers. He looked to Numbers again, closing his eyes and thinking about something Numbers had said earlier yesterday. 'Stop thinking so much.' is what he had said, when Wrench wouldn't stop blabbering about the job they were on. What would happen, or could happen, or what they could do to make it easier. Numbers just chuckled then, sighed, put a hand on Wrench's shoulder and said four words. That was all it took to get Wrench to shut up and sit down, Numbers covering his lips in a kiss. Wrench's lips were seldom used unless they were for Numbers. But not Numbers lips were slightly blue, and he looked cold. The nurse left without another word, closing the door half way behind her. Wrench shrugged off his jacket, and laid it over Number's body, as careful as he could. He watched Number's chest rise and fall, slowly and with very small movement. He kissed his forehead, and leaned back in the creaky chair. Closing his eyes with his hands under his head. Only nightmares would follow after today's events. 

Days passed. Wrench constantly asked the doctors "When?" and "How is he getting food?" Things that Wrench didn't want to understand, things he wanted to stop, he just wanted Numbers to stop sleeping. On the filth day, Wrench was sleeping, snoring up a storm in the seat to the left of Number's bed. There was a newspaper laid across his leg, the other leg up on the edge of Number's bed. His head was tossed back, facing the ceiling. With a small flutter, Numbers eyes began to open, wincing from the light, trying to adjust. He felt groggy, like he just woke up in the middle of no where, after years of absence. He didn't move, just looked around. The hospital, the machines, the tube in his nose. It was day time, the light was shining in on Wrench's face. He smiled ever so small at the sight of his stupid partner asleep, goofy looking. He blinked a couple times, and tried to reach to rub his eyes. It turned out to be a tasking job, because after days of immobility, moving around isn't so easy. With a little effort, he got his hand around his eye, moving it back and forth, and then feeling the bandages around his head. A head injury, how lovely. He threw his head back into the pillow with a thump, leaving his eyes glued to the ceiling. When Numbers awoke, he hadn't noticed the machine's beeping. The nurses had, of course and soon a couple of them moved into the room, surrounding his bed. Numbers tired to say "It's okay. I'm okay" But all that came out was a wheeze, it had been days since water slid down his throat. They started injecting him with things, trying to tell him what was happening, but Numbers wasn't concerned with any of that, because shortly after Wrench was stirring awake. As soon as Wrench saw Numbers with his eyes open, their eyes met. For Wrench- It was strange because it felt like it had been so long. For Numbers, it was just a little after he snapped into unconsciousness. Wrench tired to move a nurse out of the way to get to Numbers, but she turned around to face him, saying, "Sir you have to go- Sir please," Numbers tried to sit up, he wanted to talk to his partner. Wrench tried to push back from the nurse, but lost, and the Nurse shoved him out of the room with his head turned over his shoulder at Numbers. He wanted to say something, anything, but nothing came out of either of their mouths. The Nurse had begun talking to Numbers, she was trying to consult him about the traumatizing experience he had been through, but he just kept starring at the door, waiting for Numbers to come back. The Nurse finally had enough, and grabbed his hand to get his attention, saying, "Are you listening? Please, Mr...." 

At half an hour later, Numbers was having trouble breathing, and they would not let Wrench in the room. No matter that angry gestures, the angry faces, the doctor would just say, "Not yet." At an hour later, Numbers was being helped moved to a different room. The doctors said he would have to stay for at least another week. Wrench just wanted to take him and split right then- but he would do what was necessary. Finally, after two hours of looking through magazines and angry, disgruntled looks, the doctor said he could see Numbers.

The room was quite, a soft blue color, but also dark at Number's request because of a headache. One hand laid over his body, the other at his side, just as before, as Wrench had waited so long to see him awake. Wrench nearly ran to the seat next to Numbers, and expediently grabbed his hand. He didn't know it was going to be so hard, seeing him like this, knowing it was his fault. "Hey," Numbers said softly, trying to keep his eyes open on Wrench, who he could see was vividly upset, but Numbers was falling tired. He would struggle through for his partner though, as he always did. Wrench had nothing and everything to say, it boiled inside of him, not being able to talk to anyone for so long, and finally the only one he preferred talking to was in front of his eyes. He signed fast, trying his best to keep a steady pace, but failing in an obvious manner.  
'I tried, I did turn the car but, It just didn't make it in time, It just wouldn't go. I'm sorry- I didn't mean for this too happen, I had to drive so far to make sure we'd be safe and now you- you're hurt, I fucked it up, I didn't want- The car just wouldn't go-' He meant to keep going, but Numbers sat up with much effort and took his hands in his. Forcing Wrench's eyes into his own, forcing Wrench to stare at his face, his eyes, his lips. "It Is okay. Wrench, hey, look at me, It's okay. It wasn't your fault. In a job like ours, shit happens." Wrench let go and shook off his hands, signing at Numbers again, almost angry with him. 'How can you say that? "Shit happens" I was the one driving, I was the one who had to turn the car, I was the one who should have protected you.' His eyes were starting to water, but he held it back, not moving a muscle as his eyes collided with Number's tired expression. Numbers moved all the way up to Wrench, put a hand between Wrench's neck and shoulder, looking into his eyes, and simply signed to him, 'It's okay. You have protected me. I am still here.'


End file.
